


The Emperor's Clothes

by Myfieldnotes



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myfieldnotes/pseuds/Myfieldnotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal's Plan B isn't the one he starts out with. Team bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Emperor's Clothes

"Cargo's stowed and ready for our descent into Surebleak," Zoe announced to no one in particular and the room in general as she came down the steps from the bridge. She did a double take at Simon, who was bent over his work on the dining table. A pair of black trousers lay turned inside out along its long wooden length. Frowning in concentration, he carefully dripped wax from a lit candle in a line down the superfine wool. 

Zoe raised an eyebrow and nodded toward her husband, eyes asking for an update.

"I don't know, but it's fascinating," Wash replied, not sparing her more than a quick glance as she joined him on the couch. "First there was the polishing of buttons, then came the inspection of the embroidery of the vest for loose threads with these teeny, tiny little scissors, now this thing with the wax. It's like watching some sort of disturbing surgery." 

Reaching the end his line, Simon blew out the candle and set it aside, its wick smoking gently. Drawing the material to him, he pulled it right side out, then firmly pressed a palm along the faint shadow of an old ironing fold. A razor-sharp crease appeared under his hand down the trouser leg.

"Disturbing ain't what I'd call it." Jayne commented sharply heading into the kitchenette and starting to dig noisily around the cabinets. 

Beside her, Wash vaguely nodded, still transfixed as Simon re-lit the candle and started dripping a new line along the second leg. 

Zoe leaned back and rubbed her hand gently up and down her husband's warm back, enjoying the feel of his muscles under the shirt and watching the entire production with amusement. "Doc's using the wax to cement his folds instead of an iron—a good trick. Old non-com's used to do that for inspection when the big brass would show up. Surprised our doc knows about it. Think they have inspections in medical sch--"

Her words were cut off by the exasperated shout coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the bridge and approaching with boot thumps down the hall. "Kaylee! What is this? I told you already my answer is no!" 

A paper crumpled in his hand, Mal strode down one set of steps, crossed the room, ignoring the others in the main lounge and went up the other set to lean halfway into the opposite hatchway, shouting down the engine corridor, "And it isn't gonna change no matter how many printouts you leave on my chair, just 'cause you want it to. I ain't got funds to be buying no gee-gaws."

There was an indignant thump of a panel closing. "Now, Captain…" 

"No!" Mal waived the paper at Kaylee as she appeared and ducked past Mal's elbow, a box under one arm and a smudge of grease across her chin. Zoe watched as their little engineer plunked the carton down on the food prep counter, before she swung around to yank the paper out of his hands and point to the parts description. Her finger left a smudge print against the flexi printout. "Captain, this ain't no set of pretties, this is gotta-haves. Don't you like drinking?"

In the kitchenette, Jayne raised his hand. "I like drinking."

They both ignored him. "So use the spare," Mal flung out, not putting much effort into trying to sound reasonable and coming off exasperated. 

Kaylee pointed back down the hall toward the engine room an obstinate tilt to her pointed chin, "That _is_ the spare, and it's like to go the way of the original as soon as not. This here. _This_ is the original." She grabbed the box up and thrust it toward Mal, the contents to Zoe's ear slid and tinkled disturbingly. 

Mal peered in and frowned.

Walking past with his bowl of cereal and a short bottle of sake, Jayne glanced over. "Is life support supposed to come in that many pieces?"

"No, it's not," Kaylee stated mutinously looking toward them on the couch for support. Noticing Wash's gesture at the smudge on her chin, she scrubbed at it with the back of her hand.

Wash turned to her, pulling at his collar uncomfortably. "I'm starting to feel a little under-oxygenated. Do you feel a little under-oxygenated?" 

"I am not made of money," Mal pointed at Kaylee, then swung to Wash. "And this has nothing to do with the air circulating. I fixed that part already, remember?"

"Oh, good. Because I distinctly like breathing," Wash said, relieved. He glanced at her for her reaction, "I'm a big fan of the whole inhaling-exhaling thing. It's a nasty little quirk of mine and I just can't seem to kick it. But if that part doesn't take care of the air, what does it do?"

Zoe stood and looked at the half dozen parts that were definitely not in the one sandwich size working piece Hansu Engine Corp had intended it to be. "It desalinates all the water. That's how come we can keep reusing the same stuff we have for cooking and drinking as what's needed for cleaning and cooling." She eyed the fractured metal, then raised her eyes to Mal's face. "This does look a bit beyond repair, sir."

"Everyone thinks I'm made of money," Mal complained, but his eyes were grim. Engine parts were expensive. Too expensive for what they had. 

"You mean the same stuff we're washing with is ending up in our food?" Wash asked, eyeing Jayne's bowl to come peer in the box.

"Which is why I'm careful that only good wholesome things ends up in _my_ food," Jayne stated, pouring the bottle of sake over his nutra-cereal, making it snap, crackle, and pop. "Never touch water myself."

"That much is obvious," Inara agreed, wrinkling her nose pointedly as she glided down the steps from the shuttle wing. "Here, Doctor." She handed Simon what looked to be a silver-backed hairbrush. "This one will do quite nicely, I think." 

"Thank you." Simon accepted the camel-hair from her and gently began sweeping down the shoulders of the suit jacket currently being worn by one of the ladder-backed chairs.

"What's this about our water supply?" Inara asked expectantly, her demeanor the same as if she'd asked what the fuss was about running out of jam. But Zoe noticed her eyes were a little too watchful on Mal, she could read the not too well hidden grim on him too.

"Nothing is wrong with the water. It's fine. Just as desalinated as ever—" Mal began to answer, only to pause in apparent distraction as he watched Simon brushing his jacket like it was a horse, and then noting in annoyance the suit trousers laid out across their table along with the candles like a funeral offering. "And would someone tell me just what exactly he's doing, because it's starting to look like River ain't the only Tam with a cracked teapot."

He looked around. Wash shrugged, and Zoe shook her head. "There's been some speculation, sir."

" _He_ is getting his clothes ready for Surebleak," Simon responded for himself, not bothering to look up but just kept on stroking the black cloth like it was particularly fine mare.

"Would you mind not doing it on my table? People gotta eat there." 

"Yeah," Jayne grunted in agreement as he shoveled cereal nosily into his mouth, plunking himself down in a chair. 

"It's the only surface that was flat enough."

"Well, I don't care. Clothes don't belong on my table, nor on my chair," Mal said, yanking the offending jacket off and tossing it at Simon's face. He shoved the pants aside, and, sitting, clomped his boots down on the surface. Zoe could tell he was enjoying Simon's annoyance and how easy their doctor was to fluster at times these, like a new lieutenant fresh in from Command first time out in the dirt and trenches. Simon hastily made a grab for the various parts of his suit, re-straightening them carefully over his arm and frowning. Zoe noted how the rest weren't looking quite so funeral dirge-like as they had been only moments before.

"What's with all the fussing, anyway?" Mal ignored his second in command's knowing look since all he was doing was stating the obvious here and nothing more. "It's only Surebleak." 

"Yes, but first impressions are important," Simon eyed pointedly Mal's boots on the table, their doctor showing a bit more spark than his in-world patrician features might hint at. 

Hey, his table, Mal thought, leaning back in his chair until it balanced on two legs. He could put whatever he wanted on it. 

Still, he could see Simon was serious about pulling out his best getup for the landing. Now, funny thing was, in-world bred or not, Mal actually liked Simon. The guy stood up for what he believed in. Not many folks did. That tended to get his attention. But check out the sissy weak tea he was planning to dress in. "Listen, Little Lord Fauntleroy, Surebleak is a simple place full of simple folk. You wear clothes like that down there, and I can already tell you what impression they're going to get."

"Yes, exactly."

Mal let his chair legs come down with a thud. "What…? Is my hearing going? Did I just hear the good doctor agree with me? Wash, please check to make certain we didn't just hit a meteor or something and I'm laying here unconscious having me a hallucination."

Inara rolled her eyes at him never fooled by his wanting towards distractions when things were getting sixty kinds of irritating, and Kaylee rattled her box meaningfully, and he could just feel Zoe's eyes on the back of his neck worrying about what plan they should come up with next, which made Mal grateful Surebleak's horizon was already visible large and grey through Serenity's main cabin windows.

***

"You want me to pay _what_? For this bitty thing? For that price I could get me a whole new engine and a little _siu jei_ to walk up and down on my back." Mal swung around, gesturing to the cramped mercantile. "Zoe, I don't see any little lady around to take my back to the land of bliss, do you?"

"No, sir. Place seems sadly lacking."

"Exactly. So why don't we get our heads out of the clouds and ask for a fair price for this bit of tin. I'll give you," and Mal named one tenth the price the merchant was offering which would just leave them enough to buy new food supplies if they didn't mind another couple of months of raman noodle and soy protein packs seeing as how Plan B was well under way, since Plan A never got beyond atmo considering that plan had involved them actually having a backup part to the backup part. 

The shopkeeper, with his wide apron spread tight across his rounded chest which had seen one too many rounds of pork bao, puffed out his chest as he crossed his arms, sensing a runaround. "My parts are of the finest quality and they're priced accordingly." He named the original number hiking it by twenty. 

"Wha' ? Highway robbery!" 

The shopkeeper eyed Mal up and down, clearly not impressed by his wide-armed display nor the brown rebel's coat. "Well, go somewhere else then. No need for sucking up oxygen in my shop. But I'll warn you that you won't find another for a better deal."

"Well, fine, then, maybe I will." Mal set the desalinator down on the counter with a clunk. Showing none of how badly he wanted to throw it across the room. Or start looming and yelling. And probably not in that order. Why did it always seem to come down to one good for nothing part between him and keeping his ship running these days. He turned, ducking beneath a wicker basket, his shoulders brushing several low-hanging aluminum pots and pans, setting them to swinging and clanking in an irritating fashion. He grit his teeth. "C'mon, Zoe. I'm sure old Wei Sheng's bound to have something rolled up in his blanket." 

Zoe lowered her voice as she angled her back toward the old merchant, who was now showing an embroidered fan to another customer as she eased along side him. "That's what I came in to tell you, sir. The old swindler's asking three times that amount."

Mal stopped. "He is? What's with this planet? Everybody's a thief." 

"It does seem that way," she agreed, throwing a glance back at the shopkeep, who was already moving further on down the line. 

Mal scowled at the tops of his boots. Not for the first time noticing how scuffed and worn they'd become. Time was they'd been new, shiny new, and bright with leather oil, but that had been a long time ago, before things had changed, before the war. Mal's frowned deepened. Now you just had to make do with what you had. 

The bell on the door chimed and Simon strolled in wearing the pressed suit and vest. He looked different somehow. Expensive. He was backlit by the weak afternoon light, as his gaze swept across Mal and Zoe, he hesitated briefly his eyes flashing to them and away before continuing in. 

As he passed them Mal couldn't help but notice Simon's shoes were just as _gui_ looking as the suit, dark and polished with a sheen that could probably serve as a mirror. They looked brand new. Like he'd never spent a day sweating, or standing ankle-deep in blood, or wondering whether he was gonna make it to the next docking port. 

Zoe unhappily seemed to be following Mal's own train of thought. "Seems to me that Kaylee was fairly specific, glue and strong language won't do the job any longer. If we want to keep flying, we got to have the part."

"Yeah, her and her jangling box of fun rang that message real clear," Mal agreed, seeing Simon pick up a basket and swing it over his arm. Old mind sets automatically noting both remaining customers, as well as the merchant were watching him too. You couldn't help it. He stood out that different amongst all the drim and drab. He moved down the aisle, the simple wicker an odd contrast to the fine-tailored arm it perched on as he sought out items along the shelves. Once or twice the young doctor leaned in to inspect something, but more often than not the too refined nose wrinkled faintly and there would be the slightest shake of his head as if in personal commentary on the backwater taste. Occasionally an item would make it into the basket: a package of linen handkerchiefs, a leather journal, a lady's brush and comb set with silver handles, memory chips for a book reader. 

Shaking his head at the impracticality of their doctor, Mal exchanged exasperated looks with Zoe. Those core-born just had no common sense, as nothing there was even vaguely useful to them and their situation, and all of it easily priced double the going rate even in the spaceport bad weather ridden backwater such as it was. 

"So what do we do?" Zoe asked drawing them back to their own problems. She knew as well as he did they couldn't afford to stay and work dirt side, not for a week, not for a day, and definitely not for the good half year it would take to pay such a price. Not with the Alliance sniffing after them at every port. 

Mal said nothing, trying not to feel resentful even as he could see Simon browsing aimlessly amongst the aisles. He was in no way wishing for even a second that he could wander around any place without a care in the world just looking for things he wanted. 

"Captain?"

"It can never be the easy way, can it?" Mal murmured feeling the weight of the title, and let Zoe read the answer in his expression. 

"You do know there are at least six security cameras mounted over the door and counter." His second in command wasn't arguing, just wishing for another answer. 

"That many? You don't say?" He smiled grimly. 

They both leaned back to let an older lady carrying her newly purchased fans pass between them. The door chimed in her wake. 

Voice low, Zoe cautioned, "Surebleak also doesn't have much in way of legal courts. More often they just shoot those that commit crimes right there in the street." 

"Really? And here I thought we weren't going to have any fun." 

"It's not the stealing, it's the getting caught I necessarily object to, sir." 

"Good, then let's not get caught, shall we?"

Mal strode back down the aisle, subtly readying the gun at his hip, passing several other customers and Simon, whose gaze met his worriedly before he obviously remembered he didn't know _Serenity_ ' _s_ captain and looked away. Mal approached the counter. "You know, upon reconsideration, why should I bother myself with the competition when your shop is clearly right here and you seem like an honest enough fellow? Surely we can come to some sort of agreement."

The shopkeeper looked him up and down and then abruptly broke into a beaming smile. Huh? But in the next blink Mal realized it wasn't him the old fellow was aiming all that goodwill toward, but Simon, who had suddenly materialized at Mal's elbow. 

Simon's long fingers, tense and a little sweaty, grabbed Mal's wrist beneath the counter, the one still resting on the butt of his gun, squeezed hard, and then were gone. The touch startled Mal into hesitating. Even as the shopkeep greeted Simon as if all six-feet-one of Mal wasn't right there in front of him anymore. "Good sir, can I help you today?"

"Maybe," despite its politeness, Simon's tone impressively managed to imply a lot as his glance flickered towards Mal and then let his eyes stray doubtfully around the shop. His gaze drew Mal's attention towards the video camera in the corner directly over Mal's head much to the captain's surprise. But then Simon turned away to eye the goods behind the counter. An expression of dismay at the odd assortment of clothes, engine parts, tea canisters, and odd necessary supplies crammed onto every shelf and surface, twisted briefly at Simon's lips as if that was all that concerned him and the look towards the camera had just been one more comment on the less than new tech Surebleak mostly offered.

"I have a number of fine items. Perhaps a jeweled comb for your wife," the merchant added hopefully, noting astutely the hair ribbons Simon was pulling from a loose pile and adding to his basket.

"Sister," Simon corrected absently and pointed to a stack of white neck cloths. "I'll take three of the cravats. Those ones there." 

Mal watched amazed as the little toad of a merchant all but rubbed his hands and bowed his head. But what was Simon doing? "A fine choice, young sir. They're imported all the way from Ariel." 

"I suspect so--where else would reasonable neck cloths come from?"

"Indeed, sir, you are too right."

Mal glanced back at Zoe hovering discreetly by the door and keeping the exit ready. She raised her eyebrows, wondering. He shrugged. 

Simon nodded absently and pointed to the tea tins. "Also, the Green, the White, and the Jasmine. Do you have any Vithanakande?" He searched the silver tins with a jaundiced eye. "No, I suspect not," he drawn out sigh would have fit a moneyed pre-med student from any of the half-dozen inner core prep schools,

Despite having accused Simon frequently of using such a drawl, it was one Mal realized he had never actually ever heard issuing from the doctor's mouth, Mal heard Zoe snort a little at its officiousness.

"But I will take the box of candy ginseng," Simon added slightly louder, covering the sound.

The merchant's eyes lit up as he placed the expensive additions onto the stack, clearly mentally calculating the price, along with the inevitable two to three thousand cantra estimated cost of the suit "young sir" wore. Mal could all but hear him thinking how a luxury yacht must be in port or a private shuttle stuck for repairs. 

Another customer came up, a short and thin fellow followed by his man, and the merchant hurriedly called his assistant from the back room and foisted the customer and his servant off. Mal made an impatient sound deep in his throat. Hey, still alive, and right there, next in line, but the shopkeeper pointedly ignored him. After all, he was helping kind young sir right now, and looming spacers with nary a cantra to their name could wait. 

Scowling, Mal folded his arms as if impatient, but in actuality he was more than fascinated now to see what the doctor was on about as Simon played up every stereotype Mal had ever thought of a bored rich passenger who was out shopping to distract himself. 

"And this blouse and skirt seem rather charmingly hand-embroidered." Simon pulled the garments from a stack to left of the registry and added them to the pile. 

"My daughter-in-law, sir. She does excellent work," the shopkeep stated proudly but never looked up as his fingers flew across the beads.

"Yes, she does. Easily the finest thing here, I think." Mal actually thought Simon meant it this time, although it was hard to tell, there being so many smoke grenades being thrown about. Who knew the doctor had it in him? Mal certainly hadn't. 

Simon gestured to several more items to be added to the growing pile, and the shopkeeper's fat little fingers gleefully danced over the abacus and finally named a total that made Mal choke and stagger into the coats hanging behind him. Simon didn't even blink, as if such sums danced across his screen for approval every day, and for all Mal knew, they used to. That is, until all of his bank accounts had been frozen when he busted his sister out from an Alliance prison. 

"Yes, that will just about do," Simon's cultured voice murmured as his fingers sifted through a tray of unidentifiable engine parts and seemed to randomly pick out two of the more complicated pieces. 

Mal's gaze sharpened as the hand with its very clean nails brushed past the desalinator, then added it negligently to the stack. 

"Oh, and a few of these. My sister likes to take apart things, and these might amuse her. After all, who knows how long the repairs on our ship will take before we get back to our vacation and leave this…charming…little hamlet." Simon turned as if to let his eyes roam around the store and out the windows to the backwater planet beyond with its narrow and noisy roads, but in fact taking the moment to meet Mal's gaze straight on. 

Knowing a cue when he saw it, Mal stepped forward. "Yes, we're all on a tight schedule here. And so. My engine part?"

The merchant ignored him. "How would you like to pay, good sir?"

"Just bill my ship. _The Constantine_." Simon pretended to eye the big captain who was clearly invading his space, and the shopkeep scowled at the larger man. Mal gave him a glower: _What_? 

The shopkeep activated the planetary net, unknowingly pulling up the luxury yacht where Inara was rendezvousing with her latest client while _Serenity_ sat in port.

"In fact, here." Simon pulled a few random bills from a hidden pouch. "I believe these will address the cost of the skirt and blouse, as they are light enough to take with me. I'll wait back at my ship for all the rest to be sent over. My companion is on board and can show you where to put everything. I find I'm in need of some air." 

The merchant's eyes narrowed, his bushy brows frowning. If he said no, he might lose all the money. But if Simon had a companion, then he really could afford everything. They watched as the shopkeep ran a third check, making certain _The Constantine_ was truly in port and now running a notice on visitors and crew. His expression lightened and Mal knew what he was seeing. The name of one Inara Serra popping up. Companion, First Class. He could all but read the other man's mind. Young sir certainly had to be very rich, indeed. Cynically Mal thought a first class companion had probably never graced the muddy streets and threadbare salons of Surebleak in her or his life. 

The shopkeep stumbled over himself in his excitement. "Yes, yes, good sir, feel free to go and rest while I put together your bill, no need to sit and wait here." 

Mal and Zoe exchanged raised eyebrows. Could it be that easy? 

Simon neatly pulled the embroidered skirt and blouse to him, folded the desalinator and its two smaller cousins within, stating simply as he did, "I'll take these for now. Go ahead and have everything else delivered. My valet will announce you when you arrive." Tucking the bundle under his arm, he nodded his head politely to Zoe, who held the door open for him neat as any body servant.

Within seconds, he'd turned the corner and was away. 

"We got the part yet, sir?" Zoe called, coming to stand at Mal's shoulder, signaling she was more than ready to leave, too. 

"No, not yet," Mal growled as he stepped forward, almost automatically blocking any final glimpse the shopkeeper might have of which direction Simon had gone. "Well?" He folded his arms and eyed the shopkeep. "We gonna deal or what? Chop, chop. I got things to be doing and people to be seeing. Time is money." 

The merchant gave Mal a bland look, but his eyes were full of malice as he held up his empty hands and shrugged. "I'm sorry, but that fine gentleman just left with my last one. It would seem that you should have purchased the part when you had the chance, Captain."

"What? The last one!" Mal said outraged. "Zoe, do you believe this!"

"I am sorry," the merchant said, clearly not at all sorry.

"Yes, I can see you're all choked up about it. Careful, you might actually shed a tear."  
Mal's lips pressed tightly together, pretending to hold back anger but instead preventing the corner of his lips from twitching up. "Fine, then. Zoe, let us take our business elsewhere."

With a haughty imitation of Simon, Mal turned his nose in the air and strode out of the shop, leaving the shopkeeper greedily adding up Simon's purchases and not realizing that when he carted them all out to _The Constantine,_ he would be met by a very puzzled crew. 

***

Simon rounded the corner, heading toward _Serenity_ 's berth, unmistakable in that black formal suit and little oval sunglasses. Tailored, wealthy, spoiled; it said everything Mal had accused Simon of time and again. And yet, he'd gotten the part they needed because of that suit without nary a soul getting shot. 

It reminded Mal a lot of a day not too long ago when a quiet, stubborn pampered born doctor had convinced him to haul a big _gorram_ crate onto his ship as if it were oversized designer luggage. He'd never even suspected the man in front of him was a trauma doc frantically trying to save his sister. 

Without a word, Simon held the metal object out, then plopped its heavy weight into Mal's hand and continued right on past him and up the ramp. 

"So. First impressions?" Mal called after him.

"First impressions," Simon acknowledged, not looking back.

"Huh. Well, okay, then." Mal watched the doctor head towards the hatch and then glanced down at the desalinator. This one part had certainly caused a lot of fuss, just no end of trouble. He turned it over, studying the metal grooves. Pretty surprising how it helped make things run smooth, though. 

Guess it come to figure, maybe some parts you just didn't know you needed until you actually needed it. Hefting the desalinator in his hand, feeling its weight, Mal squinted up at the empty door at the top of the ramp. 

Yes, sir, it sure could take you by surprise what a ship needed sometimes. 

***

Hours later, evening had set on Surebleak a ways behind them so that only the dark of space with its distance white stars could be seen through the command deck windows. Serenity's engines pulsed low and soft in time to Kaylee's gentle humming as she tightened and checked the screws around the new part. In the galley, the supper dishes had been cleaned away and, one by one, the crew had drifted off to their various quarters and pursuits. 

Mal strolled into the dining room, a roll of leather tucked under his arm. Coming down the steps, he noticed Simon already there, stroking the dust off his good suit. The silver- backed brush Inara had lent him made long sweeping passes with each stroke. Inara, who'd smiled serenely into the stupefied shopkeep's expression on the com as she explained that none of the purchases was to young sir's sister's taste and therefore must all go back, every last little item. They'd all had a good laugh during dinner over that one. After brushing each piece, the doctor aligned and folded every article to be stored away in his battered suitcase waiting open on the chair beside him. 

River sat in her new blouse and skirt, curled up in a corner of the couch, an engineering textbook lying open across her lap. She held a fistful of crayons in one hand as she flipped frowningly through the pages. Occasionally, she would scribble violently across some segment of a diagram or re-plotting circuitry in red or purple, as if it somehow the original lines offended her.

Noticing Mal, Simon hesitated, brush held suspended in his hand. "Are we bothering you, Captain?"

"Nope, not at all."

With a happy crow, River circled something swoopingly with an orange crayon. Warily, Simon glanced from her, to the suit-draped table, to Mal. "We can leave." He made to gather his things.

"No, that's okay." 

With a snap, Mal unrolled the leather bundle, which fell open to reveal a brace of pistols, a small derringer, and a sawed-off shotgun. He set the entire length down on the unused end of the dining table. Pulling his gun from its holster at his hip, he added it carefully to the line-up. Then, digging into his pocket, he pulled out a small bottle of gun oil and a grey cloth. 

Simon watched him curiously as Mal sat down and matter-of-factly began to disassemble and polish the elements of each weapon. Unable to help himself, Simon asked hesitantly, "I thought you said the table was for eating only?"

Without looking up, the captain shrugged. "Yeah, well, some fella told me something about making a first impression. After a bit of a re-think, I've decided maybe he was on to something there."

Mal knew Simon would get it. He was a smart fellow, their doctor. And if there was maybe a note of respect that Mal had let creep in there well, who was to say. Simon blinked in surprise. Something in his face eased a little. "And the guns?" He asked. 

"Well, you have your first impressions, and I have mine," Mal said easily as he polished the barrel of his favorite. Pointing her toward the empty kitchen, he sighted down her length. He glanced at Simon with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. "And I don't aim to be subtle."

"No. No one would ever accuse you of that," Simon agreed solemnly as he bent his head back down to his work. Lips twitching into the barest of smiles before being gone again. Easily they both continued on with their tasks in companionable silence.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the gen fanzine The Brotherhood #3 published by Pyramids Press (www.pyramidspress.com) in 2007 and then revised for posting in 2012. Originally written because Yum@ exclaimed to the universe one day "Gimme _Firefly_ fic or give me chocolate!" …I had no chocolate.


End file.
